Hello, gentle readers. How’s it going? Good? Bad? Now that we’ve exchanged pleasantries, down to the nitty gritty. You can skip this one. It has very little to do with writing and is a bit, a lot, really really a lot, self-indulgent and rambling. You’ll also learn some not very interesting things about me. No real gut-wrenching admissions will hit you in the feels. I promise.
So, found a treasure trove of Mystery Science Theatre 3K episodes over on the youtube.
Moi does no possess a Netflix account. Moi is woefully stuck in some other year where Netflix was not a thing. Snickers expected and even enjoyed right about now.
I’ve watched Kitten With a Whip –Ann-Margaret as some bipolar JD blackmailing the voice behind Charlie’s Angels Charlie. I expected so much more from that title. Sigh.
I’ve made it through the Mole People. Beaver Cleaver’s dad and slave girls underground, while giant humanoid moles did all the work for the albinos. I have a sick need to watch that one again, because the snarky comment– this movie is all ropes and asses!–still makes me snicker to myself at odd moments.
The Brain That Wouldn’t Die. Which I actually enjoyed. The girlfriend’s head in the pan alone. I totally bought she could talk with no working vocal cords. No, really, I did. She went from super-sweet to super-Joan Crawford bitter. It was AWESOME.
Oh and of course, I had to sit through the Beast of Yucca Flats. Because. I cannot remember why right now but I had a pressing need, it pressed! to click on that selection and then endure it. Giant scientist guy, Tor Johnson? Well, Tor somebody! turned into a desert-stumbling psycho who has to kill, kill, kill and then some cars drove around, and the narrator said the most random things that had nothing to do with the movie. There was also no dialogue spoken on screen. Best. Movie. Ever.
I felt high watching it. I have no idea what the mary jane feels like, ahem, but I felt very very high during the entire Yucca Flat alternative world view. Which brings me to Manos!
I kept seeing Manos, Hands of Fate, read that it was about devil worship. Oooh, right there, I’m hooked. I do love devil worshiping movies. Usually because they’re so wonderfully goofy and full of nekkid folks. Yeah, I am that shallow. So, I settled in and prepared myself for hijinks and fun. I had, yes, expectations.
It took me three days, three tries, to get through this one. It was a drag, man! A total drag, man! I was up one night with a bad tooth, I do mean it hurt like the dickens. So I pulled up MHOF and pow, five minutes of Torgo and the clear impatience from the three MST3K guys –one actual guy and two little robots, but still–this poor achy lady [if I call myself a lady, does everyone else have to, as well?] fled for the arms of Hypnos. [Greek god of sleep.]
Of course, the near overdose of ibuprofen and the application of ten year old Orasol via Q-Tip might have had something to do with that, as well. Oh, for those wondering why yours truly doesn’t just go the dentist…BWH HA HA HA. ‘murica, baby! It’s better to die free from an infected tooth in a free market cage match over who gets to charge ‘muricans more for basic, have to go the doctor health care because I think I’m dying than let them commie socialist elitists immigrant scumbags get a free lunch. Freeeeeeeeedummmmmmm. Bald eagles! Old Glory! Apple Pie! Exploding America First American Apples Only Sparkler Patriot Pie for me!
But. Mostly this movie was a very tame set of fights between the wives of Manos. I could never tell if Manos was the guy in the Halloween costume and the Harry Reems stache or the god they all followed. And after a while I didn’t care.
The wives –they went from being limp, wearing white lingerie and old lady underwear, standing asleep against pillars to somewhat more active yet still limp sorts, all wearing the exact same white lingerie and exact same old lady underwear– squared off in what I thought would be an actual weird game of Red Rover, Red Rover.
One set of wives –Manos/guy who worshiped Manos?– was apparently some sort of version of a rogue Mormon or a Biblical patriarch. He had more vagina to choose from than the Golden Corral has selections of side dishes. Except he never had to run around in a see-through floaty nighty and show his undergarments. Sexist much?? You’ll have to go back to the beginning of this sentence because I went off on a weird tangent. Sorry! Manos/notManos wanted to not kill the little girl of the couple who had stumbled into this mess. The other side wanted the whole family dead.
Family stranded at night, finds weird hotel, has to stay the night, they worship devils, danger danger, the end.
We have enough wives, one Manos wife read from the off-camera cue cards. But Manos loves women, said the six foot tall blonde wife, that little girl will grow up to be a wife! The MST3K team went ehhhh, and yes, I did, as well. Ehhh. Poor little Debbie!
Yes, Little Debbie. Like the snack cakes. Uh huh.
Then, the wives all rolled around awkwardly, slapping gently at each other, sometimes just sitting on each other as if waiting for off-camera cues. That was the bulk of most of this movie. Other than this couple who apparently spent all night kissing, that the cops kept interrupting. They’d drink from a flask and then go back to kissing. They had nothing to do with whatever plot was actually there that I could discern. Those wacky kids!
I finally made it to the end. It took a lot of stamina, but I did it.
All this while trying to get my Alice in Oregonlandia novel going in some direction other than all the directions at once.
Watching cult movies seems to be focusing my will to live, my brain’s ability to lay out something resembling plot in my own writing and those cultie movies scrape the despair and helplessness out of my poor shriveled raisin of a soul. Like a lot of folks, American politics right now stabs me in the face all day long. It’s very tiring and soul-shiveling.
It’s not fun like it must have been during that whole Nixon thing! I’m claiming it’s helping me be a better writer because I feel a real need to justify why I’m watching MST3K instead of masterfully tackling my latest novel, while writing a full length historical play on the real Catherine the Great, done in rhyming couplets in the style of Moliere. [No, I am not actually writing a play like that. Not yet. Mmm…]
Manos did not deliver much beyond a ‘why am I watching this again?’ irritation and an actual horror that whatever I’d been writing had the same soporific quality as those poor women clumsily fighting each other in what was surely meant to be highly sexy and edgy cinema. [Or probably just an excuse for the director to film scantily clad bad actresses in their undies touching each other…not going to continue that thought. Because it’s obvious where it’s going.]
Oh, also, the poodle died awful damn quick. The little girl’s pet. She cried for it the whole damn movie. Dang. I cared more about that little black poodle than all the humans on display. There’s a lesson there, surely!
Will I take on another MST3K cult/bad movie excursion? Probably. I wonder if they did Night of the Lepus. I’ve seen that one. I remember the giant bunnies romping through a burrow. That same shot over and over. That’s burned into my permanent brain museum. Those giant bunnies. Those giant bunnies.
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